


A Matter of Time

by MaxWrite



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Event 2, M/M, Open Log Night, Team Tartan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-18
Updated: 2011-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-17 02:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the next twelve hours, Scotty and Chekov must fight for control as they succumb to an alien virus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Time

  


**2000 Hours**  


_Poor Chekov_ , Scotty thought. His young companion was craning his neck to see out the little window in the door and intermittently banging with his fist.

"HEY!" Chekov yelled. "This is ridiculous! I feel fine! I do not need to be quarantined. Let me out!"

"Well, that's a compelling argument," Scotty said from his bed across the small, sterile room. He was lying on his back, hands clasped beneath his head.

Chekov stopped banging and glanced back at him with a scowl on his face. "How can you be so calm?" he demanded.

"How can _you_ be so upset? This is standard procedure. There's a chance we could be infected – they can't just let us go back to our jobs, walking around the ship, touching things and talking to people."

"I do not feel _any_ different than when we left for the away mission."

"Well, of course you don't," Scotty said sensibly, turning his eyes away from Chekov and up toward the ceiling. "It's been, what, an hour? Gonna take a while to take effect, isn't it? You may as well get comfortable, it's gonna be a long night."

Chekov didn't reply. In his periphery, Scotty saw Chekov's curly head turn back toward the door.

"I wish the Andorian Plague on all of you!" Chekov called before turning and stalking over to his own bed, across from Scotty's, flopping down onto his back and folding his arms. Scotty glanced at him and found him scowling at the ceiling.

It was a small, square room, about fifteen feet long on all sides. Everything in it was light, sterile, depressing gray, from the walls to the floor to the bedsheets. There were two doors, both on the same wall, one being the bathroom door, the other being the only way out. Outside of the latter resided an airlock chamber with another set of doors on the opposite end.

There was one small, circular window set into the exit door. It was now blocked off by an opaque shield that slid back into place as soon as Chekov had moved away. There were other windows, but they were also blocked, and those ones only opened from the outside. They didn't need to be open for the room to be monitored. It was mid-evening. Scotty and Chekov had been fed their last meal of the day, and unless there were some alarming changes in the vital signs that were being monitored remotely, or unless one of them called for someone to come, they probably wouldn't see another living soul until morning. Which was just as well; Scotty didn't think anyone needed to see what might take place in this room.

He glanced at Chekov again, who was still quietly seething. "It's not as bad as all that, is it?" Scotty asked, his tone placating.

"I had things to do," Chekov muttered.

"Like what?"

"I have an experiment in my quarters that needs to be supervised."

"I'm sure Mr. Sulu can deal with that for you."

"How am I supposed to go running in the morning?"

Scotty snorted. "Laddie, if we really are ill, running'll be the very last thing on your mind in a few hours."

Chekov made a grumbly little noise in the back of his throat.

"Come on, now," Scotty said, finally sitting up and putting his feet on the ground. He sat facing Chekov, but Chekov didn't move. "This'll give us a chance to get to know each other a bit. We see each other all the time and we barely know each other."

Chekov made the noise again. Scotty smiled; it was actually rather adorable, like an angry tribble.

"You can't ignore me the whole time we're in here. We've at least 24 hours in this sardine tin, we might as well make the best of it."

"And how do you propose we make the best of _this_?"

"We talk."

"I doubt you and I have anything in common."

Scotty's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, really now? So, you know me already, then, do you?"

"No, of course not, I just …" With a sigh and a little "oy" muttered under his breath, Chekov sat up again and looked at Scotty. "What could we possibly have in common?"

Scotty smiled. "Pavel Andreievich Chekov," he said as though announcing Chekov to a crowd. "Curious little thing, you are."

"I am not little," Chekov said immediately, pointing a finger at Scotty. He then seemed to relax a bit, some of the wind going out of his sails as he lowered his finger, and he asked, "But … why is it you think I am curious?"

Scotty shrugged. "You tell me."

Chekov crossed his legs and regarded Scotty with his head canted, clearly scrutinizing. "What would you like to know?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, I don't know," Scotty sighed, casting his eyes toward the ceiling. "Did you always want to be an officer?"

"Pfft!" was the noise Chekov made in response, his expression one of mild amusement. " _That_ is what you ask? What is this, a job interview?"

"Well, what am I supposed to ask you, then?"

"Something interesting. Something mmmmaybe a bit …"

"Inappropriate?" Scotty offered.

Chekov grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "Can you think of something more interesting to do in here?"

"Heh," Scotty chuckled, rubbing his chin with his hand. "How old're you again?"

"Nineteen."

"Huh. Well, I suppose that's not too bad."

"What, you think I am too young to have an adult discussion?"

"No, it's just … er …"

It wasn't that Scotty thought Chekov was too young. It was more that Chekov _looked_ too young. His face had lost some of its babyish roundness in the last two years, but still. Of course, Scotty remembered what it had been like, being nineteen; the hormones, the endless energy, the hormones, the feeling of invincibility, the know-it-all attitude, the hormones. And Chekov was more hyper than most. No wonder he was so distraught about being locked up. Poor thing probably wanted to move the beds out of the way and go sprinting around the room.

"It's nothing," Scotty finally replied. "You're right, nothing wrong with being a wee bit less proper than normal, considering we're basically on holiday in here. Although, I have to say, I'd prefer it if you started."

Chekov smirked. "You are chicken."

"Damn right," Scotty agreed without shame. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm older than you. Doesn't matter how adult you are. I'd prefer it if you set the boundaries of what you're comfortable with, if you know what I mean."

"Okay, then. When did you lose your virginity?"

Scotty chuckled. "Straight to that, then, is it?"

"How old? Tell me. I bet I was younger."

"It's not a competition, you know, laddie."

"Please, of course it is. We are human, we are naturally competitive."

"Perhaps. But we don't have to go giving in to every single instinct we have. Anyway, now that I'm a gentleman of a certain age, I'm not so sure I'm comfortable knowing how young you were."

"I won't tell you, then. But you must tell me how old you were. You cannot refuse."

"And why not?"

"It is the rules."

"Since when?"

"Since right now," Chekov said defiantly.

Scotty chuckled. "Crafty little bugger, aren't you. Alright, then. I was fifteen."

A hint of a grin touched Chekov's lips, a sort of secretive smirk that made Scotty uneasy. He quickly shielded his eyes.

"Oh, that's not fair," he said. "I can read a facial expression when I see one."

"What?" Chekov asked innocently. "I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, well, you may as well have!"

"Relax. I wasn't younger than you were."

Scotty parted two of his fingers and peered through them with one eye. "Really?"

"Really. Honest."

Chekov could look mighty innocent when it served him. Scotty wasn't sure if Chekov was lying, but he lowered his hand anyway. "Alright, then," he muttered.

"What was her name?" Chekov asked.

"Who, the person who deflowered me?" Chekov nodded and Scotty smirked. "Name was Billy."

Chekov's eyebrows went up. Scotty nodded in answer to the unasked question.

"Aye, Billy was a boy."

A corner of Chekov's mouth twitched upward. "Oh. I see."

"I guess you didn't see that coming."

"No. That is very interesting."

"Is it? Why?"

Chekov shrugged, lowering his gaze. "Just because."

Scotty frowned and canted his head as he watched Chekov. What was that coy look on his face? But a second later, Chekov wiped the expression away, looked up brightly and asked another question.

"Have you ever been in love?"

Scotty smiled and lowered his gaze, wanting to hide his eyes as he replied, "No. Never. Want to – might be nice. But no, not yet."

He glanced up, and from underneath his lashes he saw Chekov nodding and looking thoughtful.

"Have you ever lost someone you cared about?" Chekov asked next.

"Well, you got serious awful quick. And hang on a minute, aren't I supposed to be asking you questions too?"

Chekov grinned mischievously. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

Scotty had to smile back. "Sneaky little bugger."

 

  


**2300 Hours**  


Chekov paced. A lot.

By now, he and Scotty had been slipped two sets of sterile, white pajama-like outfits, with pants and short-sleeved shirts. Their uniforms had been slipped out the airlock and presumably destroyed. Scotty sat on the floor in a corner, making a house of cards with the deck he now possessed, one of the few things they'd been given to keep them occupied.

And Chekov … well, Chekov paced.

"You're wearing a groove into that floor there, you know," Scotty said without looking up from his task.

"I need to move around," Chekov replied. He sounded agitated.

"How come?"

"It helps me think."

"What're you thinking about?"

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know, just … I need to move around, okay?"

"Fine." Scotty set another card carefully in place, then retracted his hand and surveyed his work. His house was about a foot and a half high now. "Sure you don't want something else to occupy your mind?"

"No, Commander, I do not want to build the little house with you."

"Might take your mind off things."

"No, thank you."

"Alright, then. Probably best. Your nervous energy's bound to knock the whole lot down."

"It is hot in here. Are you hot?"

"Yeah, a bit," Scotty said distractedly, going for another card and making his careful approach to the spot where he wanted to place it. "All that pacing you insist on doing's probably not helping."

"Have they messed with the environmental controls for this room? Why would they do that? They know that we could become feverish any minute now if we are infected, why would they …" But Chekov trailed off, and Scotty knew why. The thought seemed to occur to both of them at the same time. As Scotty slowly looked up at him, Chekov slowly looked down at Scotty too.

"It's started, then," Scotty said somberly.

Chekov looked stricken. Eyes wide, he began to pace again. "Tell me again what the symptoms are."

"Why, so you can obsess a bit more? Not high-strung enough already?"

"Please, Commander, I need to think about it. It will help me relax, knowing exactly what I am in for."

With a sigh, Scotty put his deck of cards down next to him. "Alright, then. First symptom: fever. That sets in three to four hours after infection."

"Yes. Go on."

"Second symptom: skin sensitivity. That comes about an hour later. Makes you crave touch like mad."

"Right. Continue."

The rest of the symptoms had just as much potential to cause embarrassment later on, but neither man had panicked until now because neither had felt any differently than normal. Scotty had been just as optimistic as Chekov about their chances of not being infected, but now that it was evident they were, Scotty wanted to apologize to the lad. The next several hours were going to be … interesting to say the least. And they were in it together, for better or worse.

"You sure you want to talk about this?" Scotty asked. "We should just settle in and ride it out, try to distract ourselves as much as possible."

"No," Chekov said in no uncertain terms. "We talk about things. That is how you keep fear at bay. Darkness, secrets, silence; those things are scary. Bringing things into the light, knowing everything you can – that is the way we conquer our fears."

Scotty smiled at him. "Well, aren't you wise?" he said, and he meant it. Chekov seemed to sense that and his steady pace faltered as he glanced at Scotty and grinned sheepishly. The gaze held for a few moments longer than it should have and then it was gone, Chekov looking away and continuing his pacing.

"What will it be like?" he asked. "At the peak of it?"

"Not sure. Never been through it myself, but from what I hear … it could become a mite difficult to, er … stay away from each other."

"Well, then, why would they put us in one room together? Should we not be separated?"

"Being alone during can drive a man mad. You might just claw your own skin off if you've got no one to … erm … well …"

"Restraints, then. Sedation. Why are we awake, why can't they just –"

"Chekov, Chekov, calm down, lad," Scotty said, rising to his feet and approaching. He took hold of Chekov's shoulders, forcing him to stop moving. "You see? You're just getting yourself all worked up. Discussing this isn't helping. And no, neither sedation, nor restraints, are options."

"Well, why not?" Chekov demanded.

"The virus renders sedatives useless. We can't be knocked out, it simply won't have any effect. As for restraints, well … the fact is, it's been determined that the more humane way to go about this is to allow the infected to go through their symptoms together. Being restrained isn't far off from being alone. Sure, you can't hurt yourself, but …" He shook his head. "It's still a rough ride. Makes you crazy."

Chekov's wide eyes darted. He seemed relatively calm now, so Scotty released his shoulders. He could see Chekov thinking, knew there were a million thoughts going through his head. Scotty waited patiently, watching him.

He was a handsome young man, Scotty thought. Being with him would've been a pleasure under any other circumstance. But this … Scotty never would have chosen this.

Then Chekov met his eyes again. He looked uncertain, but determined, and then he raised a hand to gently touch Scotty's cheek.

"Er … that's my face," Scotty said.

Chekov frowned. "I know that."

"What're you doing?" Scotty asked.

"I am … preparing." Chekov placed his other hand on Scotty's other cheek, cupping Scotty's face and looking closely at him. Their noses were inches apart. Scotty had never gotten the opportunity to look this closely at the lad before. Chekov was kind of mesmerizing. He had lovely blue-green eyes and features that were kind of chiseled, but also rather boyish. Scotty stared blatantly. No harm in it. Chekov was staring at him, after all.

"You know," Scotty said as Chekov's fingers explored, finding his ears and tracing their edges, "I don't normally let people do that."

Chekov's fingers stopped moving and he looked Scotty dead in the eye. "Commander, we are going to fuck each other," he said bluntly, catching Scotty completely off guard. It felt like ice water had suddenly been pumped into Scotty's veins. But Chekov was right, of course; it suddenly seemed silly to be picky about personal space, considering what was likely to happen in a few hours. Scotty blinked at him and, for the first time in his life, didn't know what to say.

Chekov, however, seemed more relaxed now. His gaze was steady and focused. "I am sorry I didn't ask first. I just need to … I just need to get used to you."

Scotty smiled sadly. "I didn't say I minded."

Some of Chekov's seriousness dissolved and he managed a small, relieved smile. "Thank you, Commander."

"Not sure rank is gonna matter much in a while. My name is Montgomery. Or Scotty. Whichever you prefer."

Chekov nodded. "Pavel."

"Alright, then. First-name basis. That's a start."

Chekov actually grinned this time as his hands fell from Scotty's face, down onto his shoulders. They stood there a moment, and Scotty had to fight the urge to touch. He was suddenly realizing just how pretty Chekov was. Even prettier now with the feverish glow he was developing, his cheeks pink, a light sheen of moisture forming all over. He smelled nice too, naturally so. Scotty detected just a hint of something like soap, but the rest of it was something more organic, more personal. More Chekov. He simply smelled _good_. Scotty clenched his fists, trying to keep them from reaching up and doing something stupid.

"Scotty?" Chekov suddenly said.

"Yes?" Scotty breathed.

"Can I … um …"

Chekov seemed hesitant, so Scotty helped him out. "You can do as you please. I won't bite." He hoped Chekov didn't read too much into that. Scotty didn't want him figuring out that this entire thing was beginning to seem more and more appealing.

Chekov smiled shyly, then focused on Scotty's mouth. Scotty had figured that was where Chekov had been thinking of going. Scotty tried not to look too eager. He dropped his gaze, stood still and waited.

Chekov began to lean in. Scotty shut his eyes, swallowed hard, the sound of which seemed almost deafening in the quiet room. Scotty could feel Chekov's heat coming closer, could feel his own heart thudding, and all the while the room seemed to be heating up by the second. Scotty wanted to wipe a bit of sweat from his brow, but he didn't dare move lest he frighten Chekov off. Scotty felt like he was shaking. What was happening to him? Was this part of the infection? Or was it … surely it wasn't Chekov who was affecting him like this. No, it must be the virus, Scotty decided.

Of course, as Chekov drew nearer, seemingly in slow motion and taking forever, Scotty felt himself begin to quiver a little, just the tiniest bit. Chekov's subtle, natural scent filled his nose. He felt Chekov's breath against his lips. Scotty licked them and waited. Closer … closer … closer …

"I am sorry," Chekov said suddenly as he pulled away. Scotty opened his eyes. Chekov was shaking his head and backing away, his hands leaving Scotty's shoulders. Scotty almost asked what the problem was, but he thought that might sound as though he was disappointed. Which he was, but Chekov didn't have to know that.

"What're you sorry for?" he asked instead.

"I thought if I kissed you now, it would make the whole thing less … strange. But I am not sure that is true."

Scotty nodded. He crossed his arms, looked down and shuffled his feet. "So, if I might ask … what'd you see when you looked into my eyes a while ago?" He hazarded a glance up and found Chekov smiling at the floor.

"What makes you think I saw anything?" Chekov asked.

"You seemed … I dunno, intrigued."

"What do you think I saw?"

"I dunno. Nerves? The ugly truth, which is that I don't know everything."

Chekov met his eyes again. "I saw what a good man you are. And what pretty eyes you have."

Scotty smiled.

"I saw, if you don't mind me saying, a little more self-consciousness than you would ever admit to. It was … kind of sweet."

"Sweet? How's that?"

Chekov shrugged. "Your vulnerability, it is very attractive. You look like a cute little lost puppy … Wait, should I not say 'puppy' around you?"

Scotty chuckled. "Yeah, that's still a bit of a sore spot."

Chekov laughed too, and suddenly the tension was broken.

"We've got some time," Scotty said, "you know, before we … well … We could get to know each other a bit. Might do a better job of making this less weird than a kiss would've done."

Chekov nodded at him and the two of them retired to their separate beds, as far away from each other as possible in the small room. And then the questions began again.

 

  


**0200 Hours**  


Chekov's middle name was Andreievich. His favorite color was orange. He was an only-child. He'd had a pet dog as a child, a black terrier named Katja. When he was eight, he broke his arm playing ball with friends and to this day it still felt a bit crooked to him.

"You're out of your mind," Scotty insisted.

"No, seriously, look." From his bed across the room, Chekov held up his right arm, the crook of it facing Scotty. "Look at that. That isn't right. Look at the left one to compare." He held up the left one.

"Your arm is not crooked, you daft little bugger. Even if it was, nothing wrong with that. Asymmetry can be a beautiful thing."

Chekov lowered his arms and sat quietly, looking thoughtful. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, and the fever was getting worse. His face was very pink now and he kept pulling at the collar of his shirt, trying to create a breeze with it. Scotty thought he looked positively lovely. He was fantasizing about going over to Chekov's bed when he noticed that he, Scotty, was absently brushing his left forearm with his right hand. His skin was so warm and the light scraping of his nails across it felt good. Really good. Unnaturally good.

Scotty stopped and slipped his hands underneath his butt to keep them still. Chekov didn't seem to have noticed. He was only just looking up at Scotty again when Scotty looked at him too.

"Okay, so," Chekov said, "your middle name is Edward. Your favorite color is green."

"Blue-green," Scotty said.

"Right. You have two siblings, a brother and sister, both younger than you. When you were sixteen you got into a bar fight about thermodynamics …" Chekov suddenly trailed off and exhaled slowly as he did that fanning thing with his collar again.

"You alright?" Scotty asked, sitting forward a bit.

"Yes, I am just …" Chekov shut his eyes and breathed deeply. "I just need a moment."

Scotty sat watching helplessly as Chekov lowered his face and just breathed. His hands wandered to his arms and began doing the same thing Scotty had been doing a moment ago.

"Easy now," Scotty said. "Keep your mind occupied. Come on now, talk to me."

"How are you not being affected yet?" Chekov demanded without looking up.

"I am. My brain's lost in a soupy fog right now, believe me. I'm just hiding it better than you're managing to."

Chekov finally glanced at him and the look in his eyes was subtle but unmistakable; they were dark, his lids drooping just slightly. He licked his lips and looked away again as though he realized what he looked like.

"You are cute," he said, his voice soft and breathy now. "You are … very cute."

"That's the virus talking."

"No. You have … a cute little mouth and … beautiful eyes and … gorgeous throat."

"My _throat_? Okay, now I _know_ that's the virus talking. Pull back, laddie, come back to me, now. Head toward the light."

Chekov looked up again, looking even more lustful than before, his skin so dewy it was like he'd just stepped inside from a gentle rain. "You don't think you are attractive?" he asked.

"No, I _know_ I'm attractive. I know damn well I am, but you're not really attracted to me. The virus is making you think … whoa … " Scotty trailed off as his vision swam a little. He blinked several times and shook his head until it cleared, and when he looked at Chekov again, the boy was smiling just a little.

"So, it is affecting you," Chekov said, not bothering to hide his ogling. His eyes dropped down to Scotty's groin and lingered there.

"Don't look at me like that," Scotty warned, though his words lacked conviction, mainly because he felt slightly out of breath. He noticed that Chekov was breathing harder too. He looked away. "Stop staring at me, you can't look at me like that."

"Why not?"

"Because I _want_ you," Scotty snapped, just blurting out the words. He furrowed his brow and closed his eyes. "If you look at me like that, I won't be able to hold back."

"Is that the virus talking?"

Scotty didn't answer. He couldn't tell anymore. He thought back to a few hours ago. Had his attraction to Chekov started before or after the fever had begun? He couldn't tell. Chekov had always been nice to look at, Scotty was simply hyper-aware of that now.

He shimmied closer to the wall and hugged his knees. He rocked back and forth a little and began reciting the digits of pi just to give his mind something else to focus on.

"Scotty," Chekov called. Scotty ignored him. _"Scotty."_

Scotty's counting paused for a moment. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You think you will hurt me?"

"I don't know, I just … I want to tear your fucking clothes off right now."

There was silence, then, during which Scotty counted in his head, trying to see numbers rather than Chekov's naked body. He leaned his forehead against the cool wall next to him. He was hard. Which probably meant that Chekov was too. Scotty scolded himself for thinking about that and went back to counting.

"Scotty, please look at me."

Chekov's voice was so soft now, his breathing heavy and wrapping his words in a sexy veil of hot breaths. Scotty clenched his eyes shut. He would not touch this boy. He could resist. They could get through this if they tried, they didn't have to give in to baser instincts. They were intelligent and rational. They could talk each other through this.

He took a deep breath and finally looked over at Chekov again; he was sitting on the edge of his bed now, his skin aglow beneath the harsh lighting in the quarantine room, his eyes sleepy and dark.

"Is it the virus talking?" Chekov repeated. "When you say that you want me, that you want to tear my fucking clothes off, is that only the virus?"

Scotty hesitated. "I'm not sure, but I … I don't think so."

Chekov nodded. "Scotty, we have only been here for a few hours and we are already this far along. What do you suppose the next several hours will be like, hm? How will we resist each other?"

Scotty regarded him sadly. "I just don't want you making a decision like this under the influence of something that's altering your perception, clouding your judgment."

"What choice do I have?"

Scotty winced at that and turned his face away.

"Besides, I decided long before now that I was okay with this. Scotty. You can come to me if you would like to."

"Pavel, please –"

"If you don't, then eventually I will have to go to you. And I will. It is a small room, Scotty, I am fairly certain that I will be able to find you."

Scotty laughed at that, despite the fact he felt sad and scared and sorry. Chekov was right; there was nowhere to run. They could either stay where they were and claw into their own skin, or give in to each other.

Scotty looked over at him again. Chekov wasn't looking at him anymore. He'd closed his eyes, was wiping sweat from his throat and pulling at his shirt collar. His expression was pained as he tilted his head back and licked his lips. The air felt oppressively hot, and somehow "oppressively hot" looked damn good on Chekov. He was like a pool of water in the desert. The air before Scotty's eyes shimmered with humidity, making Chekov look like a gorgeous mirage. A mirage Scotty needed to get to.

Scotty finally began to move, began to slide to the edge of his bed. Chekov heard him and opened his eyes, watched Scotty get up, let his eyes fall down to where Scotty's pants were very tented.

"Just happy to see you, I guess," Scotty said.

A grateful smile flickered across Chekov's face, and then suddenly he was pulling his shirt off and tossing it aside. Scotty's knees went weak for a moment and he thought he might've uttered a curse word, but his brain was so foggy by this point that he couldn't tell if he'd spoken.

He stopped in the center of the room. He wanted to go to Chekov so badly, but something just didn't feel right.

"Scotty, please," Chekov pleaded with a hint of exasperation, a hand going to his chest to caress across his moist skin, the other gripping the edge of his mattress. He parted his thighs, spreading his legs, and the ridge of hardness beneath the thin fabric became very evident.

Scotty gulped as he began to approach again, deliberately going slowly to give himself time to quell that not-right feeling, and to prove that he still could go slowly, could still control himself. He finally stood before Chekov, looking down at him. Chekov must have felt him close, because he opened his eyes and blinked dazedly up at him.

"Would you like to touch me?" Chekov asked.

The words alone were enough to make Scotty touch himself. He brought a hand to his groin and felt himself through the fabric, trying to appease himself, trying to stave off the urge to lunge and tackle Chekov on the bed. His free hand went to Chekov's face to caress his cheek. Chekov's eyes glazed even more, his eyelids fluttering just slightly and a soft smile touching his lips, as though Scotty's hand on his face was just about the most amazing thing he'd ever felt in his life.

Scotty let his hand stroke Chekov's neck, his shoulder, the back of his head, his soft curls. Chekov's skin was hot and all Scotty could think of was being naked with him, holding that burning hot body against his own. He tugged at himself a little more over top of his pants.

Then Chekov was shimmying out of his, pushing them down his thighs, and there was his cock, hard and flushed and leaking. Scotty averted his eyes, looked upwards and said a little prayer in his head. He needed strength. He needed to not hurt this boy with the intensity of his need.

And then he felt Chekov's hot hands on his thighs, the heat burning him through the fabric. He looked down just as Chekov was trying to pull his pants down.

"We don't have to," Scotty insisted stubbornly. "We can make it 'til morning, I know we can."

But Chekov wasn't listening. He'd freed Scotty's prick and wasted no time in getting it into his mouth. Scotty shuddered and his vision blurred again as pure, blissful warmth engulfed him. Wet sucking sounds and soft, contented humming followed as Chekov's head began to bob. Scotty's skin was on fire and tingly all over, and the addition of Chekov's mouth made his head swim. It was almost too much. He felt he might pass out.

"I … I need to … not be standing anymore," Scotty panted as he reluctantly pulled out of Chekov's mouth, covered himself and lowered himself to the bed. Chekov's lusty eyes followed his descent and Chekov was on him as soon as he was seated. Chekov tugged at his shirt, trying to get it off, and when it was discarded, their arms went eagerly around each other, hands exploring. They both shuddered and gasped a little as their bare skin came in contact.

It was glorious. It felt even better than Scotty had imagined, Chekov's warm, smooth skin pressed against him. They rubbed noses and nipped at each other's lips, but something kept them from kissing. Scotty kept them from kissing.

"You … have a scar on your right hand," he began to recite, "from when … your cousin accidentally burned you with a match when you were ten. And you … you can't stand the smell of freshly cut grass."

"What are you doing?" Chekov whispered.

"I'm trying to remember what you've told me … because I want to know you as well as possible when I fuck you."

Chekov let out a soft groan at those words and his breathing sped up. He nestled into Scotty's arms, burrowed his face against Scotty's neck and began licking there. His tongue seemed to sear Scotty's skin, and Scotty sucked in a breath through his teeth, clenching them tight as he tried to control himself.

"You once got a flying toy rocket for your birthday," he continued. "You broke it the same day. You're allergic to bee stings; found that out the hard way when you were twelve."

Chekov's soft laughter vibrated against Scotty's throat, feeling more intense than it would have if he hadn't been in an altered state. "Do you only remember the bad things that I told you?"

"No," Scotty replied. He gently nudged Chekov's head away so they could look into each other's eyes. Chekov whined in protest and tried to get back to nuzzling and licking, but Scotty wouldn't let him. "It's okay," Scotty cooed at him, all the while breathing deeply to try to keep himself calm. "Feel that? Feel my hands on you?" He was caressing up and down Chekov's back. He began using his fingertips to do this and Chekov shuddered with pleasure, arching and squirming where he sat.

"That's it," Scotty murmured. "Concentrate on that. And listen to my voice, okay?"

Chekov nodded, eyes closed now. Scotty licked his lips and continued.

"When you were seven, you got two pet mice, but they both got loose. You and your mum had to catch them and ended up in a giggling heap on the living room floor."

Chekov smiled.

"You disliked tomatoes when you were just a boy, but grew to love them in your teens. Once, your aunt took you to pick strawberries, and when you were thirteen, a large parrot in a pet shop nicked the cap right off your head with its beak. You like sunflowers because you think they look happy."

Chekov opened his eyes to look at Scotty and he looked more focused now than he had since this whole ordeal began.

"You like ice cream cake and have had one for your birthday every single year since you were four. You prefer vanilla to chocolate. You can bend your thumbs back unusually far and it always grossed out your mates. You had an imaginary friend until you were eleven."

Chekov gaped at him. "You … remember everything I said."

"Course I do," Scotty said with a soft smiled, still trying to hide his desire. His hands had stilled on Chekov's back, but Chekov didn't seem to notice. Scotty had successfully distracted him.

"But I only told you all of that once. How can you …"

"Well, I'm a good listener, aren't I? Besides, you're fascinating."

Chekov smiled uncertainly. He then hesitated, looking like he was trying to remember something, and he said, "You don't like olives."

Scotty grinned and began rubbing Chekov's back again. "That's right."

"And you are afraid of horses."

"Well, yeah! Bloody great beasts, aren't they?"

"You got your ear pierced when you were thirteen, but your mama made you take it out."

"Aye. You can still feel the hard little nub under the skin where the hole closed over."

Chekov glanced to the left of Scotty's face, reached up and gently tweaked his right ear. He smiled as he felt the little nub Scotty had mentioned. Scotty's eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

"Does that feel good?" Chekov whispered.

"Mmmm," was Scotty's only response. He turned his face and kissed Chekov's palm, reached up to hold the hand still and continued kissing and licking and sucking.

Chekov inhaled a shuddering breath, and then went on: "You have been in love only once before."

Scotty stopped sucking Chekov's thumb and looked at him in surprise. When had he told Chekov that?

"But your heart was broken," Chekov continued, looking sad now. "You didn't get over it for three years."

Scotty gulped. "When … when did I –"

"Your favorite uncle died five years ago of a heart condition that went undetected for too long. When you were eighteen, you and your best friend had a fight and never spoke again. You still think about him. You don't believe that you will ever fall in love again."

Scotty was quiet, taking in the sound of his own words, his own hurts, being said back to him. He _had_ told Chekov those things, about an hour ago, he remembered now. The fever had taken hold of his brain and loosened his tongue. He'd completely forgotten, had perhaps blocked it out. He thought of Chekov's words: _That is how you keep fear at bay. Darkness, secrets, silence; those things are scary._

"Bringing things into the light," Scotty murmured, looking into Chekov's eyes. "That's how we conquer our fears."

Chekov smiled, his eyes full of an understanding that made Scotty ache.

And something about Chekov's soft voice whispering the painful parts of Scotty's life, his eyes watching Scotty with concern and empathy; those things hit Scotty right in the chest, squeezed at his heart. Emotion welled up inside him, but instead of competing with his arousal, it somehow complemented it.

"I have upset you," Chekov whispered remorsefully. "I am so sorry, I didn't mean –"

"I've changed my mind," Scotty said, cutting him off.

"What?"

"'Bout falling in love. I think I might be able to again. One day. With the right person."

Chekov didn't know what to say to that, nor should he, Scotty thought. Was it obvious what Scotty meant? Could he really fall in love with Chekov? He had no idea, but in that moment, it sure as hell felt like he could.

"I think I'd like to lie down with you now," Scotty said.

Chekov blinked as though caught off guard, for a moment looking like he wasn't sure how to proceed. But then suddenly he leaned in and kissed Scotty. It was rough and graceless and desperate, Chekov cupping Scotty's face, clawing at the back of his neck, and for a moment Scotty thought Chekov might climb into his lap, which Scotty was perfectly fine with, of course. But then Chekov was pulling Scotty down on top of him, and Scotty went without a fight despite the niggling doubt in the back of his mind, doubt that had begun to seep into his brain several minutes ago. He thought of shimmering air before his eyes, and then he realized that the temperature in the room seemed to have dropped.

 

  


**0800 Hours**  


The heavy door to the room slid open with a whir and a deep voice called for the lights. Scotty frowned as intrusive light pressed against his eyelids. Chekov, nestled in his arms, remained fast asleep.

"What the hell …" said Dr. McCoy in alarm. Scotty opened his eyes and squinted at him. He was standing before the door, a tricorder in his hand, staring in shock at the pair in the bed, cuddled up beneath the covers.

"Shh," Scotty said. "Don't wake him, not yet."

McCoy glared something fierce as he approached. "What in blazes is going on here?"

"Well, what's it look like? You remember what sex is, don't you?"

"Good God … Computer, lock that door."

The computer chirped in acknowledgment.

"What are you even doing in here?" Scotty asked. "It can't have been twenty-four hours yet."

"No, it's been about twelve," McCoy informed him with a scowl on his face. "And I'm in here because it turns out you're both fine, which is why I'm glaring daggers at you right now. What in blazes happened in here?"

"Shh, keep your voice down!" Scotty hissed. Chekov continued slumbering. "What happened in here is that we both got a fever. Or … we thought we did."

McCoy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The environmental controls, they went haywire last night. The bridge was freezing, there was way too much humidity in the Med Bay. At one point there was a goddamn fog rolling through the corridors, thought for a while we might have a little tornado crop up someplace."

Scotty said nothing.

"You don't look surprised," McCoy said.

"I'm not. I figured out that it must've been a malfunction about six hours ago."

"Then what the hell are you doing in bed with him?" McCoy demanded through clenched teeth.

Scotty couldn't meet his eyes anymore. He kissed Chekov's forehead instead. "I knew I should've said something, but he was pulling me down, he wanted it so bad, and I just … I just let it happen."

"Dammit, Scotty." McCoy stepped away, rubbing his forehead and then turning his back. "What's the kid gonna say when he wakes up and I tell him that you two have been fine all along? Why the hell did either of you even think you were infected in the first place?"

"It started getting hot. Chekov actually suggested it might be the environmental controls, but then we both came to the same, completely wrong conclusion. It was downhill from there. It all must've been psychosomatic."

"No shit."

"We'd been talking about the symptoms of the infection, it must've given us both a bit of hypochondria."

"Scotty, this is bad. This is really bad."

"You don't think I know that?"

"We have to tell him the truth."

"Let me do it." Scotty managed to meet McCoy's eyes again, panic rising inside him. McCoy couldn't deliver the news. It wasn't his place. "Please. It'll be better coming from me."

"Oh, you think so?" McCoy asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because from where I stand it looks like the last thing the kid got from you was a –"

"Shh!" Scotty hissed again. "You're raising your voice again. Please, just let me tell him. I promise I'll be honest. I can't have him hearing it from anyone else."

McCoy sighed, eying the pair with clear disapproval. "Goddammit, Scotty, he's half your age."

"Is that a yes? I can tell him?"

McCoy shut his eyes for a moment. "Yeah, fine, but I'm going over it again with him when you two are dressed."

Scotty relaxed and even managed a tired smile. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," McCoy muttered. He approached the bed again, this time with his tricorder at the ready. "Hold still, I'm just gonna check your vitals. If everything looks okay, I'll be outta your hair."

When both Scotty and Chekov proved to be fine, McCoy reluctantly trudged toward the door. "Computer, unlock the door," he called. There was a little chirp and the door slid open for him. He stopped in the doorway and glanced back at Scotty. "I'm giving you ten minutes."

At that he was gone, and Scotty felt tense all over again. He kissed Chekov's head once more and gave him a squeeze. He wanted so badly to let Chekov keep on sleeping, keep him from knowing the truth for a little while longer.

"Better get it over with, then," Scotty said to himself. He gave Chekov a little shake, and then another, and then a slightly more vigorous one. Chekov stirred, whimpered, whined.

"What time is it?" his groggy voice asked.

"Morning. 'Bout oh-eight-hundred."

Chekov stretched against Scotty's body and yawned hugely, then settled back down again. "Have they fed us yet?"

"No, not yet. Listen, I've got to tell you something."

"Hm?"

Scotty took a deep breath. "I might've, er … I might've taken advantage last night."

A pause, and then Chekov raised his head to frown at Scotty. He was adorable, even now, with his curls all out of control, his eyes still squinty from sleep. "What do you mean?"

Scotty looked at him apologetically, his stomach already dropping. He could just hear Chekov yelling at him. He could imagine the anger, the humiliation, the betrayal in Chekov's eyes.

"I knew you would do this," Chekov sighed before Scotty could muster the courage to answer. Chekov put his head back down as though settling in for a little more sleep. "I knew you would feel guilty about what we did."

"Chekov, love, it's more than that."

"More how?"

Scotty decided he preferred it if Chekov wasn't looking at him, so he let Chekov lie there against his chest. "We're not infected," he blurted out, and he continued talking, just letting words tumble from his mouth, afraid that if he stopped he'd chicken out. "We never were. You were right when you guessed it was the environmental controls, they malfunctioned last night. It just got really hot and humid in here, that's all. There was never any fever. What we did … it didn't have to happen."

Chekov was quiet for a while. Scotty let him be. He was surprised that Chekov wasn't pulling away from him, but he didn't complain.

"When did you know?" Chekov finally asked. The tone of his voice was unreadable.

"'Bout six hours ago. Just before you pulled me down on top of you. Pavel, I'm so sorry, I should've said something and there's no excuse for what I've done and if you never want to look at me again, I'll understand, but … I couldn't say no to you." Scotty closed his eyes and whispered, "I didn't even know how badly I wanted you until last night, and then you wanted me too, so badly, and I couldn't tell you no. I'm so sorry."

There were a few more seconds of silence, and then Chekov spoke again: "So, you knew six hours ago?"

"Yeah, I did."

"But you just … had to have me."

Scotty squeezed his eyes shut tight, took a gamble and squeezed Chekov a little too. Chekov didn't protest. "I know that's no excuse, I know I'm a terrible person, I just … I suppose there was a part of me that was hoping I was wrong. Maybe we really were infected and what I was feeling was just a temporary lull in the symptoms. I guess I was hoping that once we got started with the … you know … maybe the symptoms would start up again. Or maybe you'd realize that we weren't really infected and you'd tell me and then I could pretend I hadn't known until that moment. I even entertained the notion that you might want to sleep with me anyway. I'm a terrible, terrible person."

Chekov finally shifted, raising his head again and looking at Scotty. He looked less tired now, and he didn't look angry at all. Scotty supposed he might be in shock, or still processing, not yet sure what to think.

Chekov licked his lips, took a breath and finally said, "You figured it out six hours ago … as I was pulling you down with me on the bed."

"Yes."

"That would be … about fifteen minutes, give or take, after I figured it out."

Scotty said nothing at first. His brain still felt slow, he wasn't quite sure what he'd heard. "Er … what?"

"We were sitting on separate beds and you were trying so hard to resist coming to me. It was then that I felt it, the slight dip in the temperature. And that made me think, made me wonder. What I was feeling – the skin sensitivity – it was psychosomatic. It was … maybe a little wishful thinking."

Scotty stared. "Wishful thinking?"

Chekov looked terribly sheepish. "I told you it wasn't the virus talking. I like you, Scotty."

Scotty just gaped at him, completely speechless.

"When I asked you if it was just the virus talking, I knew I should have told you then what was happening. I looked you dead in the eye and I lied to you. I knew you would simply call the whole thing off if you knew, because you thought I was a kid, you thought I couldn't handle this, that I didn't want you. So I said nothing. I pretended. I … tried to entice you."

"Be … because you wanted to have sex with me?" Scotty asked incredulously.

Chekov nodded, looking a little worried now. Scotty said nothing for several seconds. He slowly sat up and looked around the room, then to his left at Chekov.

"I am sorry," Chekov said sadly. "I took advantage of you too."

A smile touched Scotty's lips and then there was a little laugh, and then another, and then a full-blown grin and a laugh that made the bed quiver. He reached over and took Chekov's hand. "Well, that's alright, then, isn't it?" he said, sounding more like himself.

Chekov gave him a huge, radiant smile and threw his arms around him. Scotty gladly embraced him, melting against him as relief washed over him.

"We're a couple of idiots, aren't we?" Scotty murmured.

"Absolutely," Chekov whispered. He sought out Scotty's mouth and they kissed, a slow, deep kiss that made every inch of Scotty wake right up. He vaguely remembered some of the things he'd admitted last night in his fake fever haze, something about falling in love again. He wondered if Chekov remembered that. He decided not to bring it up. It was too soon to be saying such things. But the words were still as true as ever.

Then again, Chekov had been perfectly lucid when Scotty had said that. Maybe Chekov didn't mind. Maybe he liked it.

"Want to do it again?" Chekov whispered playfully, reaching beneath the covers to see if Scotty was hard. He was but he shook his head anyway.

"Dr. McCoy'll be in any second and that's the very last thing he needs to be seeing."

Chekov whined but seemed to accept that. Scotty saw no harm in continuing to kiss, however, and Chekov didn't seem like he was about to stop anyway.

The phrase "speak of the devil" ran through Scotty's mind when he heard the door unlock and slide open. Chekov began to pull away, but Scotty wouldn't let him go. With a wicked grin he took Chekov's mouth again and kissed him hard just as McCoy stepped back into the room.

"Okay," Scotty heard McCoy say as he drew nearer. Scotty peeked with one eye; McCoy was looking down at a PADD as he approached. Scotty shut his eye again and waited for McCoy to look up.

"I sure hope you told him everything," McCoy said rather tactlessly. "Because I'm not about to – SCOTTY, GODDAMMIT!"

END


End file.
